From Hell's Heart
by Snaketooth
Summary: Ynnead emerges to face Slaanesh, in an epic showdown. One shot.


'Come out, come out , little fly, no more need to sit and pry.'

The webway is not as of real space, yet also not of the warp. That was it's purpose long ago, the perfection of the realm of souls with the majesty of the order of the material world. But that was no collapsing. The change, corruption was coming. The webway was being consumed by the warp.

'Come out, come out, little fly. It's time I think for you to die.' Sang the sweet voice of Slaanesh.

There was no were else for Cegorach to hide. The god faced Slaanesh in the chamber, face turned in the ever-grin. Slaanesh matched their grin. They were in the form of an Eldar from the height of the empire, clad in finest clothing, the peak of the once crumbled society. The now extinct race.

'Well, I finally caught you. You ran for a long time, and the chase was thrilling. But I caught you in the end. You know I always get what I want.' Slaanesh half moaned. 'The craftworlds are blighted, and dead. The exodite worlds are gone, broken by a world they had no place for. Even Commorragh has fallen to the Hive 't that one a surprise' Slaanesh smiled. 'And finally your own followers. Into the webway, they went, and one by one they fell. Each death was a work of art.'

Slaanesh sighed. It was beautiful. They were always beautiful. 'And so ends the Eldar race. And so do you die. It's been a long time coming.'

At that, Cegorach laughed. Not the mad laugh of the damned, but a pleasant chuckle. Low, controlled. As if she had made a clever word play.

'Something funny?' They asked.

'Everything is funny.' Cegorach said. 'But there's something you should know. In our doom, lay hope. And they stand behind you.'

Slaanesh looked. A figure stood behind her. It looked like it had been waiting for a while.

It looked like an Eldar figure, tall and slim. In it's hand lay a shimmering sword, and it had a cloak over its figure. On its face, it wore a mask of wraithbone, with no expression. Like an eldar necromantic construct.

Slaanesh looked at them. And they spake not.

'You see?' Cegorach said. 'Ynnead has arisen. The God of Smoke and Bleached Bone. With the power of the spirit stones, a new god has emerged. The god of the dead has arrived at last, for our last hope.'

Cegorach grinned for one last time, and began to fade. 'I now die too.' And he laughed. 'But, I'll still get the last laugh.' And with that he was gone.

Slaanesh put all their attention on Ynnead. They did not respond to this - they did not seem to make any movement. They were simply waiting.

'So, the Eldar managed one more piece of necromancy to try and prevent defeat? That's perfect. The perfect end to their failed race. Truly, no more artistic finale could have been written.'

And Ynnead spake not.

Slaanesh did not like being ignored. But they could control themselves if need be. They flexed imaginary muscles, and changed. Arms became claws. Skin became armour. Hair crawled into tentacles.

Smiling maniacally, Slaanesh ran forward, their whole body swaying as they ran . 'You've only just been born. How about you find out what pain is?' They cried, with chattering teeth breaking into terrible song, tongue hanging from their mouth.

As Slaanesh drove their claw forward, Ynnead moved. There was no sound it brought its cloak down, and its arm. With a slash, they were gone, and Slaanesh's arm was cut into pieces. Slaanesh, shocked, slammed down into floor.

Looking behind them, Ynnead stood again. They were a statue of a guardian's armour, white and black plates with no sigils or runes. The stance had not changed.

Slaanesh, looked down at their arm, fingers reforming with a flick of their godly might. 'Didn't feel a thing,' they said. Then their voice changed to anger. 'I felt NOTHING?!'

And Ynnead spake not.

Ynnead, not turning from Slaanesh, brought their sword forward. Their fingers flickered, the sword turning to smoke. Their arms moved, like an artisan, weaving the smoke into a new form. A shuriken catapult appeared in their arms. Slaanesh looked at the weapon. 'What an awful weapon. If you're going to conjure up a weapon, why not make it a little bigger?' Slaanesh licked their lips, with their long forked tongue.

Slaanesh raised a hand. From the webway around them, the claws and tendrils of their daemons appeared. With them came a clattering of claws, scretching of desperation. All together, they grasped forward. They brought themselves down onto Ynnead.

Ynnead did not move. They instead turned to smoke, swirling through fingers and claws. They appeared a few steps behind them, and silently brought down the gun.

From the catapult, came forth malice. Hatred. Purpose. These came, all in the form of the very fast sharp blades. They struck through the daemons, causing out screeches of pain as they fell upon them as fast as rain. The time began to slow down around each shuriken, leaving everything around it solid as it cut through flesh and bone alike.

Slaanesh looked around at its fallen daemons. As they did, Ynnead once more turn its weapon to smoke, weaving them with great movements of their arms. On the final stroke, they threw it up, catching it again in one hand as it formed a great scythe, twice Ynnead's size. A second blade then creaked out the other size, and two fell in with a great swipe, falling a double headed spear.

Slaanesh looked upon the spectacle with a smile on their face. 'Oh, you do love a bit of drama, don't you?' She smiled. 'But I feel it's time for me to start taking it seriously.'

Around them, the webway changed. The walls bustled, turning to vibrant pulsing colours. The bone and steel turned to flesh. Eyes and ears opened, blood vessels pulsed red and black, tentacles and tongues fell and rose, mouths screamed through their sparkling teeth.

'Look upon me, God of Ghosts!' Slaanesh shouted out. 'The webway is mine, devoured as I devoured the Eldar! Look upon it, in my perfection!'

And Ynnead spake not.

Ynnead slowly advanced, spear held in both hands. A tentacle, slashed forward, and was sliced in twain, flopping to the floor. From every direction, claws and blades and whips and stinging things came towards them, everyone cut away, with a steady turning of the blade, leaving each with numbness. As Ynnead did, they did not turn their gaze from their target - the centre of Slaanesh, the form standing on a throne of adoring daemons, crowned with glowing stars. They smiled as Ynnead advanced.

Two giant throbbing tongue lashed at Ynned, who turned to smoke appearing to the side. As they did a thousand knives were hurled from the ceiling, blocking it out. Ynnead appeared and reappeared, time and time again, showing neither fear nor pain nor the slightest concern or emotion.

As they reappeared for the last time, a third tongue hit Ynnead, sending them down towards and opening mouth. Ynnead turned as they fell, turning the blade down to stab into the edge of the teeth. It screamed, shaking the ground around them. Ynnead turned to smoke, appearing elsewhere, only to see the form of Slaanesh before them. With a single swipe, Slaanesh knocked them to the floor.

Slaanesh looked back towards the court of daemons behind them. 'Sing out, my servants. Sing out in victory, for the Prince of Excess!.'

A chorus from behind Slaanesh, singing of pain and pleasure. Ynnead turned, getting to their feet, and swung their spear at Slaanesh, who simply knocked them to the side with a swipe of their claw. They punched at Ynnead, sending through the air. Tentacles caught them, creeping around them and crushing them.

Ynnead swung their spear, cutting the cage to pieces. But Slaanesh was there crushing to the floor. Around them, the very wall crawled and slithered around them.

Slaanesh grabbed onto their neck, and started to choke them, holding them high into the air. Ynnead tried to swing their spear, but a stab in the air made them drop it to the floor. A daemon picked it up, and held it to Slaanesh, bowing. Slaanesh held it, and in their long tongue wrapping around the shaft, snapped it in half.

'How do you feel?' Slaanesh asked Ynnead. 'Can you feel the craftworlds now? The tyranids pick the bones of some. The orks smash others. Some simply drift through space, with nothing left of what killed them. In the end, they just faded away.'

Slaanesh squeezed tighter. Ynnead tried to move their fingers, smoke swirling in tiny winds in their fingers. Slaanesh smiled. 'Still you try. I guess you're not really intelligent - just a reminder of what was. What could have been.' Slaanesh let out a laugh. 'Can I ever make you feel?' They moaned. 'We shall see. I know oh so many ways. I do wonder if you will feel -'

And then a blade shot forward. Slaanesh took a few moments to work out what happened. They looked down, seeing the blade in their belly, coming through Ynnead's back, to reach the arm that stabbed them.

Slaanesh smiled, not out of happiness, but a single final satisfaction. 'I felt that.' And with that, they collapsed.

Ynnead watched them fall, watch blood fall, and the webway retreat to its uncorrupted state. And then they fell too. Their corpse fell on their foe, and turned slowly to smoke.

Across a hundred craftworlds and maiden worlds, spirit stones, silent wraithguard and bone structures slowed, and any power their faded. Their sins were atoned. Their last purpose in the galaxy was gone.

Such an ending is perhaps not surprising. For amongst the stars there is no peace, no respite, no hope of victory. Only, maybe, the hope of revenge.


End file.
